


Something Blue

by Khione_North



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: (Im)proper Use of Frosting, Aphrodisiacs, Breeding, Clawing, Come Inflation, Come Marking, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Marking, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mild Blood, No Refractory Period, No betas we die like Ascians, Oral Sex, Public Hand Jobs, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Wedding Night, Weddings, lewd thoughts, will write for coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26562205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khione_North/pseuds/Khione_North
Summary: She is stunning.He is stunned.G’raha cannot leave the reception quickly enough, his senses frenzied by lust and the need to breed his new wife...My WoL Khione and G'raha Tia get married.  Wedding night shenanigans ensue.  G'raha turns out to have one hell of a feral side.  Khione is very much okay with this.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	1. Something Old, Something New

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, hi there, ho there! 
> 
> This fic was inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/miyeok_ff14/status/1307166408665493505?s=21)
> 
> And also by Nautilus and Arynn and our Exarch Thirst hour over in [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club.](https://discord.gg/ymjZVaf) If you want more wholesomely debauched and/or enabling FFXIV fanfiction, come join us! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> -Blue

She is stunning. 

He is stunned.

Khione has been stunning throughout the entire day, and rightfully so. G’raha had wept like a babe when he beheld her striding confidently down the aisle, radiant in a flowing gown of palest silver-blue silk. She had reminded him of stories of angels wreathed in beauty and crowned in glory. The intricate lace of her long, tight sleeves had seemed spun from opalescent silk — no doubt a gift from the people of The Crystarium, something new — and the train of her gown fanned and trailed behind her in a cloud of whispering, rippling fabric that made her seem like she was floating. From what she had told him, the body of the dress had been made from the silk of her mother’s own wedding gown — something old. Atop her gently curling midnight tresses, a kokoshnik tiara glimmered and sparkled like a million stars — on loan from the Holy See of Ishgard, something borrowed. At her throat, the diamond choker G’raha had given her specifically for this very day glittered with every breath she took. 

G’raha had been a nervous, excited mess through the entire ceremony, a part of him always wondering if this was just another dream until the moment they were pronounced eternally bonded, man and wife.

Waiting for the reception was torture because it was the only thing standing between G’raha, Khione, and a much-needed vacation to The Crystarium — G’raha would forever be grateful that they had finally figured out cross-rift travel.

G’raha had thought earlier that his heart couldn’t be so full, so overflowing with nervous excitement and brilliant, refulgent love for Khione. He hadn’t even considered the lust aspect of this day.

He really should have.

Khione had changed from her regal, ice-blue silk confection of a gown trimmed with delicate lace and glittering diamonds; into a dress of midnight velvet that drapes and drips from her generous curves like a waterfall guarded by a vicious siren, parting for the pale, toned column of one of her legs. His mouth waters at the sight, eyes focusing in on the prize of the frothy silk lace garter that marks an inky interruption at her thigh, and he can feel the hungry, feral part of himself snarl and claw at his self-control. Just a little longer, he tells himself, and then she is all his and he can ravage her for the rest of eternity if she permits him.

G’raha forgets how to think as all the blood rushes from his brain to his head far south. His gaze sweeps away from that wickedly taunting leg, languishing over the suggestive curves of her hips hugged by the dark blue fabric, up the length of her torso to savour the fullness of her breasts that are slightly rosy with a blush that continues up the delicate line of her throat to paint her high cheekbones with vivid colour.

G’raha forgets how to breathe as he takes in her face. He knows every ilm of her, has memorised the sharp lines and gentle curves of her face. He has seen her at her very worst: one breath away from turning into a true monster, her very soul splintering and shattering as agony twisted her features into something grotesque and horrific, and still he loved her with every onze of his being.

To G’raha, Khione has always been stunning, striking, without equal.

Now, she is devastating in the best of ways, and he wants nothing more than to fall before her and _weep_ for the flood of emotions and unfiltered _hunger_ that crashes through him when scarlet eyes brimming with tears of joy meet eyes of starlight silver. 

G’raha forces himself to kneel slowly, to remember to breathe and think properly because all of their friends are watching and Gods damn it all, he would give his very soul just to be able to sink himself to the hilt inside of her and never leave, but he doesn’t because he wants this torture to continue, so that when at last they have cloistered themselves away from the rest of the world, their joining will be the sweetest symphony he has ever heard, a lightning storm over roiling oceans, the howling of a maelstrom that threatens to set the world aflame.

Khione smiles down at him; at once a cruel, wicked goddess tempting him to sin and oblivion with the temple of her scar-flecked body; and a holy angel granting him succour and peace.

It occurs to him then that this magnificent creature, she who has slain gods and ancients and all manner of fell beast, is his _wife._ His _mate_. 

The flame in his blood, in his loins, is set anew, as he runs his nose along the delicate, lean muscle of her inner thigh. He slides both hands up the back of her leg, and he presses teasingly chaste kisses along the sensitive skin, working his way down to the garter. From the way Khione has tensed, he can tell that she’s burning up inside just as much as he is, and the feral beast roars. The situation is not aided by the potency of the arousal his sensitive nose can smell this close to the warm, wet darkness between her legs.

Finally, G’raha takes the lacy band between his teeth and _slowly_ drags it down Khione’s leg, his hands following at an equally teasing pace.

The gathered audience erupts into applause when the bride steps out of the garter. To everyone’s amusement, it is Alphinaud who catches it when G’raha sends it flying into the crowd. Ryne catches the bouquet. Both are flustered and promise never to speak of the occurrence ever again.

G’raha cannot leave the reception quickly enough, his senses frenzied by lust and the need to _breed_ his new wife, and he nearly sobs in relief when Khione reaches under the table during the speeches to unzip his trousers and pull him out.

Her hand is gentle and practiced — this is not the first time either of them have been caught uncomfortably horny at a public gathering, and they have both turned this momentary gift of relief into an art form. She circles his swollen, leaking tip with the pad of her thumb, just the whisper of a touch to smear the pre-cum around before she slowly begins to pump the velvet-wrapped hardness of his cock. G’raha has to focus on a spot on the opposite wall to keep himself from making all manner of faces because his beloved partner knows exactly how to work him just enough to take the edge off.

Without ever looking at him, Khione finishes her ministrations, tucking him back into his smalls and trousers with only a bland smile etched on her face for the crowd’s benefit.

Eikon slayer indeed.

The speeches, blessedly, come to an end, and then there is only the cutting of the cake left.

The finest culinarians of both worlds worked tirelessly on the confectionary masterpiece. Five layers of decadent vanilla cake, frosted with a layer of Norvrandt caramel frosting beneath a thick layer of sugary vanilla buttercream coloured Crystarium blue, decorated in Art Deco designs of gold and silver. G’raha is thankful that Khione ordered a second, smaller cake to be brought to their room at the Pendants awaiting their arrival, because he is far too preoccupied with watching his beloved to pay much attention to the cake that he shovels into his mouth.

At long, long last, their friends and family usher them out to the chocobo waiting to take them to the Syrcus Tower from which they will take the portal to the twin tower on the other side of the Rift.


	2. Something Borrowed, Something Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VERY EXPLICIT FAM.
> 
> Enjoy my depravity. I had too much fun writing this.

The entire transit process is a blur, and all G’raha can focus on is the feeling of Khione’s rings as she twines her fingers with his. Somewhere in all of this, she has glamoured her gown back into her wedding dress — for the benefit of the people of Norvrandt, no doubt. G’raha has to remind himself that Khione, the Warrior of Darkness, belongs to them just as much as Khione, the Warrior of Light, belongs to the people of Eorzea. Khione North is his and his alone, though.

They are met with roaring applause and pale purple petals raining down upon them as they descend the stairs of the Dossal Gate, jubilant and brimming with newlywedded joy. Lyna bows low, then comes to embrace them both. Khione’s laughter at Lyna calling her ‘grandmother’ is something breathtakingly beautiful, and G’raha promises the good Captain that the three of them will meet up for dinner at some point during the honeymoon. Lyna simply gives them a knowing smirk, and shoos them off to the Pendants.

Khione’s suite is largely unchanged, save for the fact that things like the dresser and the desk have now been doubled to accommodate G’raha as well. It smells of her blackcurrant and rose perfume, of the metallic scent of dust from many travels through Norvrandt and the First, the crackling warmth of the fire that dances in the fireplace to ward against the midwinter chill that has set in. In short, it feels like home because it feels like Khione.

“So, my Lady Exarch—” G’raha begins, turning away from the window to face his new wife. He forgets how words work for a moment.

While G’raha has been ogling the light snow falling outside, Khione has changed her outfit one more time. Her lingerie is simple, dyed a royal midnight blue fit for a queen: A sinfully elegant bustier corset in iridescent silk lace that hugs the smooth line of her waist, tied just tightly enough to give those lean hips a hint of curve and definition, while pushing up her already-generous breasts to cradle the other sapphire necklace G’raha gifted her, the brilliant blue stone nestled in the dip of her bosom. Her bottom is only barely covered by the matching lace panties.

It is the sheer silver floor-length dressing gown she wears over the ensemble that really catches G’raha’s eye, though. The garment is simple, meant to add a further layer of elegance in tandem with the strappy silver heels adorning Khione’s feet. 

Her hair is fully down, curling gently to frame her graceful face, and G’raha wonders if perhaps he has died and this is the afterlife when he beholds the regal, ethereal _queen_ before him. She is perfect and he is one hell of a damned lucky fool, he thinks, as he slowly, reverently steps toward her with heat and hunger burning in his eyes of molten scarlet. He rakes his gaze over her with scorching starvation and barely-held control, his mind already trying to decide where he will burn that beautiful body with his mouth and teeth first, where he will leave the sacred, permanent brand of his claiming bite while he marks her with his come and suffuses her scent and aether with his.

G’raha doesn’t realise that he is visibly shaking with the strain of keeping his feral, male instincts in check until Khione traces his jaw with a delicate, manicured fingernail. The look in her moon-silver eyes is a reflection of the animal hunger that boils in his core, and it is all the confirmation and encouragement he needs to finally release his hold on himself.

His hands are at her waist, gripping with bruising force before his mind even has a chance to catch up, and he slants his mouth over hers in a scalding snarl of a kiss. The little gasping mewl Khione makes when G’raha tugs and drags her lower lip through his teeth snaps the last of his control, and he cannot move fast enough as he literally tears the dressing gown from his mate’s form, cannot think past grabbing her hair and tugging her head back to expose where her lifeblood thrums through her throat. He buries his nose in the spot between her neck and shoulder, breathing her in so deeply that the memory of the delicious scent of Khione, of his _mate_ , will be tattooed upon his heart for the rest of his existence. 

The painful throbbing of his hardened cock straining against the fabric of his trousers brings him back to reality, fuels his frenzy further. It occurs to him that he wants nothing more than to taste her, to glut himself on the arousal dripping down her leg, and he realises that she has most likely been restraining herself just as much as he has been restraining himself.

G’raha scoops Khione into his arms with preternatural swiftness, stumbling over to the bed to splay her out at the edge. He wonders if perhaps he is giving her a horrible case of emotional and sexual whiplash as, in a turn from the bestial fire that howls through him, he kneels before his bride to gently remove her shoes and panties, to trail a line of teasingly chaste kisses up from each ankle to the hollows where her thighs connect to her trunk. She whines impatiently, hooking toned legs over his shoulders to press her heels into his back.

“Use your words, _my Lady Exarch_ ,” he growls, his mouth hovering over the honeyed nectar of her entrance. His smirk turns positively _wicked_ at the shiver that runs through Khione’s body. “Tell me what it is that my beautiful mate wants.” He emphasises his words by nipping and sucking a mark into the tender flesh of her inner thigh, so, _so_ close to where he knows she wants his mouth, but the mischievous side of him wants to tease her just a little bit more.

“P-please eat me out,” Khione grates, her voice husky with desire and need.

“Good girl,” G’raha hums, running the tip of his tongue up the length of her slit.

She tastes of salt and sweat and something intoxicatingly sweet, headier than any wine G’raha has ever imbibed — and he has certainly imbibed plenty during his centuries of life. G’raha moves one of his hands to grip her thigh, and sets himself to devouring her, the other moving up to tease two fingers at her entrance while his tongue continues to spear her, skilled and silvered. He has to press down on her stomach to keep her in place after she nearly jolts off the bed when his fingers actually join his tongue inside her. 

G’raha outright purrs when one of Khione’s hands snakes down her body to rub at the pearl that sits at the apex of her thighs, and he quickens his own movements to match the pace she sets on the sensitive bud. Her voice is breathy and desperate as she begs him not to stop because she’s close.

Who is he to deny his goddess?

Her release leaves him love-drunk and hungrier than he ever thought possible, and he laps up every drop with insatiable fervour until the legs pressing into his back and shoulders go boneless and limp.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room are Khione’s heaving breaths, and G’raha’s ragged huffs. He waits until she comes down from her high before he makes eye contact and sucks her juices from his fingers.

It does not take Khione long to recover.

“Strip,” she orders, levelling him with a gaze so cold and fierce that he wonders if she intends to give him frostbite. Regardless, he heeds her command, making a show of slowly unbuttoning and unbuckling every garment while he watches his mate prowl over to the kitchenette. 

Khione returns with a bowl of Syrcus Tower-blue frosting just as G’raha steps out of his smalls. He quirks an eyebrow at her, tail swishing curiously, while his deft fingers make quick work of the laces of her corset. She does not give him time to admire her body.

“Lie down,” his little Warrior purrs, and again G’raha obeys.

He hisses in surprise and pleasure when she smears the first trail of chilled frosting from the tip of his chin down to the hollow of his throat. His cock strains harder and harder with each stroke of the spoon down his front, ending just before it reaches the patch of wiry copper curls above his length.

Twelve bless this brilliant, wicked creature as she proceeds to lick up the frosting, starting from the teasing closeness to his cock, and slowly moving up the length of his body until she finally claims his lips in a sugared, sticky kiss.

“My turn,” he murmurs, taking the bowl from her and pushing her to recline against the lush mountain of pillows at the top of the bed. G’raha Tia — soon to be G’raha Nunh, he supposes, since after tonight, he will have fulfilled the requisites of earning such a title — was never much of an artist, but he uses the brilliant blue frosting to paint his name in Allagan letters across Khione’s breasts, a crude rendition of the Crystal Tower up her torso. It’s the thought that counts.

The salt of the sweat still clinging to his mate’s skin cuts through the overwhelming sweetness of the frosting, and G’raha will be damned if he’s not enjoying leaving a trail of sticky, saccharine blue smears on Khione’s lily-fair skin.

They laugh together at the ridiculousness of the moment, tongues and lips and bodies both stained a little blue from the food dye used in the frosting, and G’raha cannot help but tear up a little at the overwhelming love he feels for the woman spread out beneath him. He would give her the entire universe on a platter if she asked him, but instead, all she has ever required, she says, is his love. He is more than happy to give it.

For a few moments, they are quiet, basking in the glow of joy and laughter and love, but G’raha cannot ignore the physical pain of denying his feral urges for much longer.

Khione, blessedly, knows this.

Her eyes are tender and loving and hungry when next she speaks between chaste kisses that leave G’raha feeling anything but.

“Breed me, my Lord Exarch,” she whispers in a voice like a howling Coerthan wind — airy, needy, greedy.

G’raha growls, his senses narrowing down into pure instinct. “Are you sure, Khione?” he manages to grate out. They have joined countless times at this point, explored every ilm of one another’s bodies, but this time is different. This time, even though his brain knows that Khione takes a contraceptive tonic every morning, his feral nature seeks only to _breed_. He will not take this last step unless she is sure.

There is fire blazing in Khione’s eyes. It is the same look she gives her enemies before unleashing the full force and storm of her magic upon them.

“Yes. Breed me. _Now_.”

Stars burst in G’raha’s field of vision when he enters her in a single, bruising thrust, and it is like coming home.

They both snarl in ecstasy when he bottoms out, and Khione’s sharp, manicured nails gouge deep canyons in the skin of G’raha’s back, her legs wrapping around his hips to pull him closer, impossibly deeper.

She begs him over and over, fill her, fuck her, use her, breed her full of his seed, make her his wife and mate in body now that they are One in heart.

G’raha loses himself in the celestial heat of his beloved, each thrust dragging otherworldly sounds from them both, the cut of her nails through his skin leaving a fiery comet’s tail in his nerves.

Satisfaction clangs through him at the pathetic cry she makes when he pulls out completely, the sound turning into a strangled, lewd moan as he flips her onto her front and enters her from behind to continue this primeval dance.

For a moment, G’raha pulls Khione up, her back flush against his front so he can growl in her ear. “You asked me to breed you, my dearest _inspiration_. Who am I to deny you?”

Khione sings a begging song of pretty ‘pleases,’ and ‘Gods yes,’ letting G’raha position her on her hands and knees once more. 

He grabs hold of her hips, feral instincts guiding his every fast, forceful thrust.

Khione crashes over the edge first, tears springing to the corners of her eyes as she comes around his cock, and G’raha decides that this is how he one day wishes to die — impaling this beautiful woman, her inner walls fluttering and squeezing around him. She screams his name and it is like a sacred hymn, and it is enough to drag him over the edge with her.

After spending so much of the day pent up and hard, G’raha comes with Khione’s name dancing on his lips, the bass to her soprano. One of his hands finds the bulge where his cock and seed fill her, and he purrs — a rich, feral, male sound — to find her already slightly swollen from the volume of his release. It makes him hard again almost immediately — somehow, he suspects Khione may have spiked the frosting with some sort of short-term aphrodisiac. G’raha can’t bring himself to care.

“Are you ready to go one more time, my dear?” he asks, nibbling lightly on Khione’s shoulder.

“Please.”

So very, very insatiable, his mate.

He pulls out long enough to flip her onto her back again. This time, when he makes her wail his name, he wants to see her come undone.

G’raha enters Khione slowly, never breaking eye contact until he is hilted in her. She reaches up to run her fingers along the edges of his ears, drawing a low groan from the miqo’te. He almost fucks her into the bed when the cheeky thing reaches around to tug on his tail. Oh, she does know how to drive him wild, but he is determined to love her with every onze of his body right now. There will be more time for feral behaviour later. He hopes she is prepared for his first rut.

They move as One being, their souls twining along with their bodies. G’raha can feel the mighty glacier of Khione’s passion and adoration and love washing over him with every thrust of his physical body into hers. In return, Khione allows herself to be consumed by the blazing wildfire that is G’raha’s heart, revels in the warmth and safety of the flames, the knowledge that this beautiful, ancient soul is hers as she is his.

When they reach their climax, they do so together, each biting deep, violent marks into the other’s shoulder to claim and mark and remind.

G’raha cannot help but laugh at the way Khione frowns at the slight swell in her abdomen from the obscene amount of come that he has filled her with. He fears she might throw a shoe at him when he produces a little vibrating plug to keep it all where it belongs. She laughs and pulls him in for a gentle kiss instead, and G’raha knows he made the right choice in marrying her. 

His inspiration.

His Warrior.

His wife.

His mate.


End file.
